


Feels Like You're Riding to Kill Us Both

by purloinedinpetrograd



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Biker AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purloinedinpetrograd/pseuds/purloinedinpetrograd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he first meets her, it's through a veil of smoke filling the bar and swirling out of her mouth as she breaths. She's wearing leather and studs and ripped black jeans, and the cigarette looks like it was made to rest between her fingers. He's in a button down and khakis, and he's never smoked a day in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like You're Riding to Kill Us Both

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [freelancertexas's](http://freelancertexas.tumblr.com) awesome Biker!AU.  
> EDIT: Now, actually proofread! I think I've caught all of the mistakes now.

When he first meets her, it's through a veil of smoke filling the bar and swirling out of her mouth as she breaths. She's wearing leather and studs and ripped black jeans, and the cigarette looks like it was made to rest between her fingers. He's in a button down and khakis, and he's never smoked a day in his life.

Church isn't sure what he's doing here, and he _is_ sure he doesn't belong - but she invites him next to her all the same. This is the moment Church's life stops making sense.

\---

She tells him her name is Tex, and Church isn't entirely sure that's actually her real name - but he doesn't question it, doesn't even care to know what the writing on her birth certificate claims she is called, because he knows it's not going to suit her any better than the name she has given herself.

"And yours?" she asks, glancing sideways as she takes a sip from her beer; some local brew that Church can't remember the name of, but she made him order nonetheless instead of Blue Moon, because Blue Moon "tastes like watery bread, don't be such a fucking pussy."

"Leonard," he tells her, and she's already about to laugh, so he quickly follows with, "Leonard Church."

"I'm not calling you Leonard," she says. Church can feel his face heat up and he's about to snap back before she continues, "Doesn't suit you. Church does."

"No one calls me Leonard," Church admits, and she nods like this is information she already knows.

\---

He's completely out of his depth, Church realizes, but he doesn't really care.

Doesn't know how he's supposed to care when she's already got her hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing circles into his back, soft lips against his ear and warm breath against his cheek as she tells him, "I think it's time we head out, don't you?"

Church has had enough beers that he's not going anywhere himself, so he lets her lead him out of the bar and into the night, and he's only a little surprised when he sees the bike; all sleek black and silver metal that shines in the buzzing neon light from the sign that hangs above the bar. A Harley, he thinks to himself, but he doesn't know enough about bikes to make the call - doesn't know _anything_ , if he were completely honest.

She slips the helmet onto his head with a crooked smile that's all teeth, like there's something she knows that Church doesn't. (She doesn't put one on herself.) She slings a leg over the bike, hands gripping the handlebars as she settles into place, and she glances backwards at him as she waits for him to follow.

Church wraps his arms tight around her, and he's expecting her to say something cliche, something along the lines of "you better hold on" - but it doesn't come, and he realizes that even though they have only just met, he knows her well enough that he should have known better than that.

Tex brings the bike roaring to life as she peels out of the parking lot and onto the road, and Church can hear the engine revving beneath them as wind rips past, grips a little harder than he will ever admit as she tears around corners. It feels like she's riding to kill them both.

\---

Tex is all force and Church is all desperate touches; neither of them make it past the door to her apartment before they're already on each other. Church has never been with someone whose kisses were more teeth and biting and _hard_ than lips or tongue or gentle, but it feels right, feels like this is how it always should have been.

Church has never been the one being led to bed instead of the one leading, has never felt so wildly off balance - Tex's lips are quirked upward in a smirk as she shoves him down and he lands hard on his back, and he knows that, for now, all he can do is hold on as she crawls over his body, as she works at the button on his pants.

Church has never really let go before, but the feeling of Tex's mouth against his skin and hands forcing him down, her thighs wrapped around him - it's overwhelming in a way that's entirely foreign to him and he finds that his grasp is slipping, and he doesn't even try to tighten his grip.

\---

Tex wakes up before him. (Tex _always_ wakes up before him; but this is the first time, and Church still isn't surprised.)

She's sitting at the window in just a tank top and no pants, blonde hair falling out of a loose ponytail as she lights a cigarette. "You smoke?" she asks Church, even though she hadn't even turned around to see he was awake.

"No," he tells her, voice still sluggish as he wrestles himself free from the the last tendrils of sleep.

She smiles as she twists to look at him, eyes wide and bright with a gleam of genuine amusement - a look that's purer than he would have expected to see on the girl from the bar who wore studs and rode a Harley. "You do now," she informs him, and she doesn't say anything else, doesn't offer him a cigarette, just takes another drag and watches as the smoke curls from her mouth.

"So, how about breakfast?" Church asks.

Neither of them can cook, so Tex takes them to a diner where the waitresses have the voices of chain smokers and call them both "honey."

\---

There's no awkward talk, no conversation that begins with a tentative "So, what now?" They both know what this was, and that isn't a one night stand.

Church doesn't get her number right away and she doesn't get his, but he returns to the bar next Friday and he finds her waiting for him. (Tex will never admit it - not in a thousand years - but Church knows he saw a look of relief on her face when she saw him walk through the doors.) 

\---

It's six weeks in when Church finally asks the question that's been bugging him for two. "How come I haven't met any of your friends?"

"Who says I have friends?" Tex asks him, legs tucked underneath herself as she picks at the seams of her couch that are coming undone. She's paying more attention to the television than she is to Church, and it's a shitty reality tv show about pawn stars that neither of them really like but find themselves watching time and time again anyway.

"Bullshit," Church snaps. "Unless you're going to try to tell me all those people you're texting all the time are just acquaintances, and all the calls you take in the other fucking room because you don't want me to hear are your boss."

Tex shrugs. "Maybe they are."

"No, they're not! You've met my friends," he complains. It wasn't that he had _wanted_ to introduce Tex to both Tucker and Caboose - Tucker's arm still hadn't recovered from their first meeting and Caboose still got a frightened look on his face whenever her name was mentioned, and Tex had hated them both enough that Church was honestly worried that one might end up dead. (This was more for the concern of having his girlfriend end up in jail than for either of their well being.)

"And that went so well," Tex says, rolling her eyes. "I really appreciate you dragging me along for that one."

"Look, I'm just saying - it's just what you do when you're dating and it's weird that I don't even know if you've told any of them about me, and I don't even know a single one of their names!"

Church realizes he's made a mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth, because there's a weird look on Tex's face and she can only stare at him, the silence weighing heavily on them both. This is strange, this isn't like Tex; she's not chatty by any means, but she's got the ability to nag and snap and snark like Church would expect from any woman, and her quiet now is unsettling.

Church can feel his gut twist as the realization of where he went wrong dawns on him. "Tex," he says, voice low and unsure, "we are dating, aren't we?"

She still doesn't respond.

\---

It's three weeks later, and Church hasn't heard from her since, but he knows who it is knocking on his door before he even opens it. He doesn't know how.

"Look who came crawling back," he says, voice bitter.

"Cut your bullshit," Tex growls at him, fingers grasping at the cuff of her black leather jacket, shoulders lined with spikes held tense. "You know you're happy to see me."

Church opens his mouth - he wants to argue further, wants to continue the conversation that they had started weeks before but had never finished, wants to demand clarification, a name, a _definition_ to what they were if he agreed to let her back in his life - but she's right, and he's scared that she's prepared to walk away.

"You coming in?" he asks instead, opening the door wider for her, and she flashes him a smile that reaches her eyes. It's the same look he saw on her face that first morning they woke up under the same roof, and he knows he's made the right call.

It's hours later - after they've marked their apologies into the other's skin with teeth and nails, after they've reassured themselves of the other's presence with desperate touches - when Tex starts the conversation again. "I'm in a biker gang, you know," she says, arm draped over Church's bare torso, one leg thrown over his body as the sheets tangle between them.

"Yeah," Church shrugs. "Kind of figured that one. What with the leather jackets and, you know, bike."

"No," she insists, "like, an actual gang. Church," she says, pausing - there's a hesitance about her that is entirely uncharacteristic - "they would have ripped you apart." Church laughs at this, like it's some sort of funny joke, but he knows she means it. "I'm _serious_ ," she snaps, voice harder, and it shuts him up.

"So _oo_ ," he drawls, "I'm just never going to meet them?" He tries to hide his disappointment; he's not sure if he's succeeded, but Tex ignores it either way.

"Tucker has a bike, right?" She asks instead.

"Yeah, why?"

Tex chews on her lower lip for a moment. "Why don't we go for a ride? I mean, all of us together?"

There's a definite significance to this statement, but he doesn't know what - Tex has just yielded in a way that he can't understand, and Church knows he has no other option than to accept it for what it is.

\---

It takes time, but Tex eventually learns how _not_ to hate both Tucker and Caboose; Tucker finally learns how to control his mouth around her and he stops collecting bruises from her punches; and Caboose learns to accept her presence, even if he's always a little bit uneasy around her.

They're in the parking lot outside of the diner Tex and Church had eaten breakfast at their first morning together and then countless time after; Tucker is laughing at something he's just thought of, Caboose staring at him oddly from beneath his helmet in the little sidecar attached to Tucker's bike.

"The fuck you find so funny?" Tex asks him, one eyebrow raised.

"It's just," he says with a bit of a shrug, "we're kind of our own biker gang now, aren't we?"

Church glances at Tex as he says the words, unsure of what her reaction will be - but she just smiles and laughs herself, and it's Church's favorite sound in the world. "Yeah," she admits, "I guess we are," and for the first time, Church realizes that Tex hasn't been texting anyone, and she hasn't been taking any calls.

He doesn't mention it - knows she'll get mad if he brings it up, because that's the way Tex operates - but he's finally realized what was so significant about that statement from weeks and weeks ago. Without saying anything, he wraps his arms around his girlfriend's waist, reminds her that they needed to head out.

She brings the bike roaring to life as all four of them peel out of the parking lot and onto the road, and Church can hear the engine revving beneath them as wind rips past, grips a little harder than he will ever admit as she tears around corners. It feels like they're riding to feel alive, and everything makes sense once again.


End file.
